It's Only Me Waking You
Summary: A collection of oneshots and drabbles about Charlotte and Gereon. Fluff and hurt/comfort. Takes place during a non-specific time on the show. Mentions of some plot points through season two. Some chapters will be AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Babylon Berlin… Darn.
Warning: Suggested physical abuse.
Chapter 1: Schal
Gereon and Charlotte sit in the Cafe Kranzler. Cigarette smoke drifts like early evening fog and lingers on scarves and coats. Rath brushes dry fingertips across the rim of his coffee cup and picks a piece of ash from his tongue.
"I must show you something," Charlotte says urgently, although they have been sitting together for at least fifteen minutes. When she leans over to collect the item from her bag, Gereon notices the dark purple smudge on the right side of her neck, as long as a handspan. The plum-colored smear contrasts the milky whiteness of her skin.
It could just be dirt…
Rath rubs his own shoulder, experiencing a phantom pain of sympathy.
Fraulein Ritter pulls out a red ticket from her bag and flutters it in front of his face like a child ready to visit a carnival.
"Here, look," she says, her lips creasing into a smile that is instantly infectious. Her enthusiasm for her work, no matter how mundane, no matter how gruesome, always surprises him.
Gereon takes the ticket, faded around the edges, and turns it over in his hands. He can feel a glimmer of curiosity (sparked by Charlotte's smile) coat his stomach and heighten his senses. He's rarely hungry for food anymore, but he has an appetite for the chase.
"Muller, the marked man," he comments on the name that is broadcast on the ticket. His attention lifts back to Ritter. "Where did you get this?"
Charlotte tilts her head and sips her coffee. "Here and there."
"Moka Efti?"
She nods, taking a drag on her cigarette.
Gereon pockets the ticket and finishes his coffee. He ignores the way his left hand spasms briefly and decides to broach the subject he can't get out of his mind.
"I noticed the bruise on your neck."
Charlotte's expression is cool and neutral. She answers him with silence.
Rath continues. "Was someone rough with you last night?"
She shrugs, noncommittal.
Her reticence is maddening, and Gereon sighs. "I wish you would give it up."
A sudden burst of high-pitched laughter escapes her lips, and she shakes her head, as if to say: Poor Gereon. Poor, naive Gereon.
The inspector frowns, angry that she can tease him even though he is her superior. "Forget I mentioned it."
Charlotte's laughter subsides, and she rubs her eyes as if she could erase the dark circles under them. "Forgive me, but why do you care?"
Gereon remembers the way he used to love Helga, the way he used to dance with her, entwine his fingers with hers, the ways he would curl a strand of her hair in his fingers on a sunny morning when she lay beside him.
"I care. Do you need a reason?"
Ritter stubs out her cigarette and pauses. "I would like some gratitude, now and then. Gratitude for the token I just gave you. My night work aids the Castle. A bruise for a ticket. Fair trade."
Gereon wishes he could say that he would do anything to cancel the injury caused to her, that he would do anything to go out and hunt down the man who harmed her, that he would double or triple her salary with his department if it meant that she would be safe.
Instead, he asks, "Do you even enjoy it?"
"I enjoy the money I earn."
Gereon's hand flies to a pocket and pulls out a handful of coins. He places them on the table with a solid chime. His heart beats warmly, his hand empty. Your move.
Charlotte smirks. "What's this?"
"For you," Rath says. "So you don't have to… work tonight."
Ritter considers the money, perhaps counting the coins, then she pockets them soundlessly. "Thanks."
Gereon releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A knot of tension along his shoulders slowly unravels and dissipates.
Charlotte mutters something about never asking for a big brother as Gereon openly smiles. He wishes he could sit in the cafe opposite Charlotte forever, that they could continue sipping coffee until the stars turned on, eternal spotlights and dream machines. The woman across from him begins to tell him one of many remarkable tales from her work in the nightclub scene. At the same time, she removes a pale pink scarf out of her bag. When Charlotte adorns it around her neck, like the bow on a birthday present, its gauzy silk hides the bruise from Gereon's sight.
TBC
A/N: I'm somewhere toward the end of season two of this TV show, and what a fun ride! All I wish for is a little bit more time with Gereon and Charlotte together, so I wrote this! Hope to have more oneshots and drabbles to come. The title of this fic comes from a lyric in the German cabaret song "Night Ghost (Nachtgespenst)." Apologies if I get any language within this fic incorrect. I can count to ten and say the days of the week in German, but that's about it.